


𝐃𝐨𝐦𝐢𝐧𝐨 🁡 𝑇ℎ𝑒 𝑃𝑟𝑖𝑛𝑐𝑒𝑠𝑠 𝐵𝑟𝑖𝑑𝑒

by Adrenalineshots, sonshineandshowers, TheFibreWitch



Series: Domino 🁡 [18]
Category: Prodigal Son (TV 2019)
Genre: Angst, Case Fic, Digital Art, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Gen, Hallucinations, Harassment, Health Emergency, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, Mental Health Issues, Metafiction, Murder Mystery, Nightmares, Surrealism, Trauma, Unreliable Narrator, Video, a lot of really strange stuff that happens in altered states of consciousness, anxiousness, reader-driven
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-08
Updated: 2020-10-08
Packaged: 2021-03-07 20:42:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,160
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26503831
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Adrenalineshots/pseuds/Adrenalineshots, https://archiveofourown.org/users/sonshineandshowers/pseuds/sonshineandshowers, https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheFibreWitch/pseuds/TheFibreWitch
Summary: Selecting 𝑇ℎ𝑒 𝑃𝑟𝑖𝑛𝑐𝑒𝑠𝑠 𝐵𝑟𝑖𝑑𝑒 from the bookshelf, Malcolm travels through his own mind.Read this story at:https://www.thedominostory.com/#the-princess-brideThis book is one part of the Domino series. If you have not yet read thePrefaceorIntroduction, please head there first.
Series: Domino 🁡 [18]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1926451
Collections: Domino 🁡, Prodigal Son Big Bang 2020 - Saturday Posts





	𝐃𝐨𝐦𝐢𝐧𝐨 🁡 𝑇ℎ𝑒 𝑃𝑟𝑖𝑛𝑐𝑒𝑠𝑠 𝐵𝑟𝑖𝑑𝑒

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Jameena](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jameena/gifts), [MissScorp](https://archiveofourown.org/users/MissScorp/gifts), [ProcrastinatingSab](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ProcrastinatingSab/gifts).
  * Inspired by [The Princess Bride](https://archiveofourown.org/external_works/685330) by William Goldman. 



> This book is one part of the Domino series. If you have not yet read the [Preface](https://archiveofourown.org/works/26497927/chapters/64577434#workskin) or [Introduction](https://archiveofourown.org/works/26497927/chapters/64588537#workskin), please head there first.
> 
> Betaed by the wonderful [Jameena](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jameena/), [MissScorp](https://archiveofourown.org/users/MissScorp/), and [ProcrastinatingSab](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ProcrastinatingSab/).
> 
> Credit to the creators and their works that inspired and were referenced in this work:  
>  **— Inspiration:**[The Princess Bride](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/The_Princess_Bride_\(novel\)) \- William Goldman  
>  **— Cover Song:**[The Sword Fight](https://youtu.be/L8FGBKpIMzc) \- The Princess Bride Soundtrack

[](https://www.thedominostory.com/images/full/the-princess-bride.jpg) |   
---|---  
  
“Hello, my name is Inigo Arroyo. Your father killed my father. Prepare to die.”

Malcolm blinked, not quite ready to believe what he was hearing. Or what he was seeing, for that matter.

There was a man inside his home, standing in the middle of his living room, holding a sword in his hand, aimed straight at Malcolm’s heart. The profiler looked at the display behind the man’s back, only to confirm that yes, of course, it was one of his own swords.

Therefore, not a replica. And sharp.

The profiler tried to act casually as he observed the man closely. He looked about the same age as Malcolm, not exactly tall, but in good shape. He looked strangely familiar, with his dark, almond-shaped eyes and beard. From the way he was holding that sword and the stance of his feet, Malcolm guessed he wasn’t completely clueless about how to use it. Besides, it didn't take fencing lessons to figure out the purpose of the pointy end.

Walking slowly to his kitchen counter, Malcolm set down his coat and cellphone. He could feel the other man’s eyes following him around, untrusting of his every move. “I believe you are mistaken,” Malcolm calmly stated. “Put the sword down, leave, and I won’t say a word about this to anyone,” he offered, keeping his voice level and friendly. JT was waiting for him downstairs to give him a ride to the precinct. The last thing Malcolm wanted was the detective walking in on this mess and bringing a gun to the situation.

“You are Malcolm Whitly,” the man pointed out without hesitation. “Your father is Martin Whitly, The Surgeon.”

Malcolm frowned. So, it wasn’t a case of mistaken identity, after all. “You must be mistaken,” Malcolm said again, risking the rage of the armed man by contradicting him. “My father only killed women.”

Mostly. The few men he had in fact killed had left no family behind. Of that, Malcolm was sure.

And it was the truth, for the most part. Serial killers tended to stick to one gender and his father was no exception to the rule, no matter how special he thought himself to be. They were also killers, which meant that whomever crossed their path and behaved menacingly probably ended up dead.

“It is you who is mistaken,” Inigo insisted, taking a step closer to the profiler. The blade in his hand caught the light coming from the window, glinting menacingly. Not for the first time, Malcolm regretted having all of his weapons collection in such a perfect, usable condition. Then again, if one is getting skewered, best it's done with a sharp blade rather than a dull one. “My father responded to what he thought to be a prank call at some rich people’s house. He was a cop, you see… The Surgeon felt menaced by his presence and killed him...offered him something to drink,” the man went on, tears welling up in his eyes. “They found my father in the river, carved beyond recognition, but they were able to identify the drug that put him to sleep… it was the same one The Surgeon used on all of his victims.”

Malcolm had started to shake by then. This was impossible. The story the man was telling was almost the same as what happened the night his father had been arrested, only… ”What was your father’s name, Inigo?”

The young man snarled, lunging forward until the tip of the blade was poised just above Malcolm’s collarbone, inches from his heart. “My father was Gil...Gil Arroyo.”

The pain inside his chest over hearing that name was so intense that, for a moment, Malcolm believed the man had stabbed him right through the heart. Instead, it was his words that hurt.

It made no sense. Gil was alive, waiting for him at the precinct. They had been working together for close to a year now. Hell! Gil had been there for him, supporting him as a friend and a father figure after Martin was arrested. This man could not be talking about the same Gil Arroyo. “Gil Arroyo...married to Jackie, son of Guillermo Arroyo?”

The man took a step forward, looking Malcolm in the eye. “How do you know all of this? Have you been keeping tabs on all of your father’s victims? Is it some sort of sick game to you?”

Malcolm desperately searched for a logical explanation for what was going on, but his brain failed to provide one. On one hand, he knew with certainty that Gil was alive. Malcolm had warned him that night, the policeman had not become one more of the Surgeon’s victims. But, on the other hand, there was this man inside his house, with the deep certainty that Gil was his father, and that he had died at the hands of Martin Whitly.

Either one of them was insane or this was a very elaborate prank that someone was pulling on him.

As if on cue, the sound of JT’s heavy steps announced that the detective’s patience had run its course. “T’hell is taking you so long, Bright?” he came in, complaining. It took him less than a second to go from grumpy to holding his gun as he took in the scene. “Drop your weapon and stand back from him. Now!”

“Wait!” Malcolm yelled, his hand out to stop JT from shooting. “It’s okay...I got this,” the profiler assured him.

It was easy to see from the raised eyebrow and the way his weapon didn’t go fully into stand down that JT thought he was more than one fry short of a Happy Meal. “How is this okay?” he asked, incredulous.

Malcolm winced. The detective was not wrong.

Inigo had backed away from the profiler as he spotted the gun in JT’s hands. Insane or not, he seemed aware that a sword was no match for the speed of a bullet.

“JT...meet Inigo Arroyo,” Malcolm introduced them. He watched as the last name registered with the detective. “Gil’s son.”

JT huffed. “Gil doesn’t have kids,” he pointed out dryly.

“Inigo, please put the sword down,” Malcolm begged, more out of concern for the young man than his own wellbeing. It was now pretty obvious that the man was not really a menace. Just… confused.

The man held the blade even tighter, his knuckles colorless as he gripped the handle. “No! Martin Whitly is in prison, out of my reach!” he growled. “I will not be denied my revenge any longer!”

Malcolm barely had time to dodge the blade as the sword came suddenly swinging towards his head. Pain burned across his cheek as the tip of the sword made contact.

Before the young man could take another swing, a shot rang out inside the apartment. Inigo hissed in pain, the sword dropping from his hold with a clatter of metal on the floorboards. Holding his wounded arm with his hand, the man fell to his knees, crying, “Forgive me, father...I have failed you,” he whispered, disheartened.

JT looked from the man on his knees to Malcolm. “Can someone please tell me what the hell is going on here?”

Malcolm sighed. For a moment, he had feared he was the one who had lost his mind, that he had imagined a whole life where he had done the right thing, where Gil had survived and they worked together. It was not perfect, but it was certainly better than the alternative.

To be offered a glimpse of what could have been...

He had been just a ten-year-old boy. The odds of taking such a huge step, calling the police on his own father, and then standing by his choices and warning that one policeman who his father was and what he was about to do...

Inigo Arroyo was a mirror image of that scared Malcolm Whitly, the one who had heard the doorbell and ran to hide in his room, ignoring all the dire consequences of his lack of action. Inigo was what could have been had Malcolm not made the right choice that night.

But none of that explained who Inigo Arroyo really was.

“Wait...I know this guy,” JT announced as he placed the man in cuffs. “He came by the station the other day, claiming he was the Dread Pirate Roberts!” he added with a smirk and the worst British accent. “I don't think he's all right up there, you know?”

“How dare you, sir!” Inigo let out, aggravated. “Besides, that was a ruse to figure out where this one lived,” he explained, nodding towards Malcolm.

“Smart,” Malcolm pointed out, the words sounding flat. “And while you were there, did you happen to see the name on the door of the Lieutenant in charge?”

The man sat quietly. “I did...it’s a common enough last name,” he defended.

Malcolm, however, saw his opening. “Inigo...who told you the story about Gil Arroyo’s death?”

JT perked up at that. “Wait... _what_?”

Inigo squinted at the two men holding him prisoner, perhaps hoping to kill them with the power of his murderous gaze. “My mother told me all about it,” he ended up confessing. “How my father was a hero, and the Surgeon had killed him.”

Malcolm exchanged a look with JT. Working on a hunch, he picked up his phone from the counter and opened his photo file. “Is this the man your mother told you about?” he asked, turning the phone to show him a picture of Gil. It had been taken the week before, when the Lieutenant had showed up at the precinct parading his new set of wheels.

The man’s eyes lit up in recognition. It was both very clear he recognized the man he believed to be his father, and that he idolized Gil. It was also clear his mother had sold him a lie. “Inigo...look at the plate of the car,” Malcolm urged, using his thumb and index finger to blow the image up. “This was taken this year...last week, in fact.”

Inigo shook his head. “No... _impossible_!”

“Dude, I think you need to have one serious conversation with your mother,” JT said, pulling the man to his feet. “After I take you to the station to be processed and answer your charges. Breaking and entering, assault with a -badass- but deadly weapon, attempted murder…”

As he listed off the charges, Malcolm could see the young man’s face lose all trace of color until all that remained was his brown, expressive eyes.

“Or…” Malcolm let out, his eyes locking with JT’s, silently begging him. “I could press no charges, because really, what harm has been done?” he added, his grin feeling forced and unnatural. 

He ignored JT’s pointed look at the bleeding graze on his face. Okay, _some_ harm had been done…

Truth was, he felt like the young man didn’t deserve to see his life ruined because he had been fooled his whole life by the person he thought he could trust: his mother. 

Sure, he had made the choice to come there to kill him. But sometimes, people make the right choices for the wrong reasons.

And sometimes, they make the wrong choices for the right reasons.

— ◌◯◌ —

"They're analyzing the notes in the books," JT relays to Dani. "They're running out of things to test for a contaminant."

"Does it even matter at this point? She's dead, he's halfway there, and how it got into them isn't going to change the outcome." Dani sounds forlorn, more down than she had been the last time they caught up on their progress.

"If we can find where it came from, maybe we get a print — something to link back to a person." JT slides closer to Dani's desk and rests his hands on it. "What do you need right now?"

"Bright to come out of a coma?" Dani says, an extra glisten in her eyes. She heaves a big sigh and takes her time drawing in another breath.

There's nothing either of them want more right now. They have more interviews to follow up on and evidence to piece together to figure out who is responsible for this mess. Who will pay for injuring their friend. The police work gives him a compass, a steadiness to stay on track while they wait for better news. "Is there something I can do for you? Make you a tea? Give you a few minutes?"

"I'll take the tea." She sighs. "Thanks, JT."

He walks over to the beverage station and takes his time preparing both of them fresh mugs while watching Dani at her desk. She rests her head in her hands for a few moments, but when she rises, her shoulders are set as strong as ever, determined to get into the next thing.

They can do this. JT knows it.

They just need to find the right thing.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading. Head back to the [Bookshelf](https://archiveofourown.org/works/26497927/chapters/64588570#workskin) to pick another book. :)


End file.
